Solitary Confinement
by Lady-0f-Time
Summary: A chance encounter in one of the most dreaded places, Sherlock meets a friend. but before that friend can truely be his, he must prove himself worthy. a figure, shrouded i mystery and murder in the style of Poe, the path to salvation is a lot darker than he may have first anticipated
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: my first Sherlock fanfic, please leave some reviews for me :D i was hoping to go for a bit of a darker side of the story, but as im writing im going along and just doing stuff. im not good at this, forgive me. **

There was a time when the world thought it was alone, and safe in the hands of the government and their dogs. Neither accepting them into their own but depending on them when things got too hard to handle and that was usually the case. The dogs did the governments' dirty work, digging up names that should have been forgotten, linking people to past crimes and inevitably getting themselves caught on the enemy's list. But the dogs were simple minded folks, who sat on command and occasionally would play dead to save face. But in the world, there are always different breeds of dog. You have the domestic ones which do as their told and then you have the wolves. The sly creature with the fangs that rip everything to pieces. This breed can be docile, tame and friendly at times but can never be controlled.

The government has no need for wolves amongst them. As long as their dogs round up the sheep, keep the peace then why would they need a wild animal? but once in a great while, the dogs find themselves backed up into a corner as the monsters are let out of the closet and there is only one person to go to; one thing that can stand between the monster and the people. His name is Sherlock Holmes.

Holmes was a man of few words, always thinking and always bored. He had no friends, and few allies that would occasionally support him and his habit. He used, and abused drugs on a daily basis, in almost every form he could get a hold of. The high would last only for so long, wracking his mind with better images than the ones he would have sober. Alone he was, alone he stayed till something found its way to his place on purpose, but mostly by accident. The drugs, occupied his mind, made him less aware of the dark, filthy and horrid world he was forced to call home. Between the highs there were lows, dark and deep pits of depression that pained his body. The pang of something more, something different filled his entirety.

Every week an old friend would check in on him, and by his great mercy, never reported his drug abuse. He kept telling himself that Sherlock would find a way out, on his own. The great mind was the only thing that kept them from putting him away for every drug offense known to the system. on late Friday nights after work, Sherlock liked to partner up his usual dose with a bottle of cheap beer and lay half-dressed on his sofa, listening to the clock tick its tock, and tock its tick. The rhythmic pattern dulled his mind a little and he would fall into a sleep.

There was a pattern in his head. A string of words and lines from books. They would always repeat themselves to him, like a lock or a code that kept him from going off the deep end. Footsteps creaked over the wooden floor boards. Silencing as feet met the rugs in the living room. Sherlock was still asleep, out cold from the drugs and beer in his system.

A man sighed, crossed his arms and stared at the sleeping figure, mourning the loss of such a great soul. Every time the two met, it was the same thing, an absence of words and a story told out through the injection marks on Sherlock pale skin and other objects littered about the house and across his body. The man, Detective Lestrade, sat down on one of Sherlock's wobbly chairs and just drifted off into thought.

Sherlock shifted and a string of inaudible words came out of his mouth. Lestrade looked at him again, seeing the man start wrestling with the pillows on the couch. His body was writhing in pain, convulsions became quick and it was now apparent what was going on. Holmes laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling with cloudy eyes and sweat dripping down his face and his chest. Both his fists were clenched and turning white from the force he was using to keep them shut. Lestrade was reaching for his cell, as he slowly stood up to walk over to his 'friend'.

"Sherlock"

"STAY AWAY FROM ME" he shouted. The man's voice was broken and hoarse from the alcohol. Lestrade backed up a little, the smell was horrid. Judging by the smell, he didn't know the last time the man bathed, or did anything to keep himself healthy.

"I'm going to call an ambulance"

"I'm not going" he said a little calmer. His body was still shaking, and there was a few more convulsions followed by Sherlock rolling over and going into a sort of seizure. His pale skin was turning red as the paramedics met Lestrade at the top of the stairs. They rushed into the room with a silent buzz. The surreal motion of their equipment accompanied by fast medical talk was all a blur to Detective Lestrade. He looked at Sherlock upon the stretcher, with glazed over eyes and a pitiful, pleading expression upon his face. He had been strapped down to the stretcher, thick leather restraints held his wrists in place as they began to cart him out. As they exited the room, Lestrade saw Sherlock's pained face one last time, dark hair wet and matted to his head, flush cheeks and foggy eyes. Then the door closed and everything was silent.

Lestrade walked over quietly to the table. His eyes working their way around the messy surface, covered in Sherlock's drugs and a few stray books. Their dog eared pages lay splayed out across the table, all open to the same topic. Lestrade picked up one of the old books, and felt its leathery surface in his hands. The paper was used and touched on all corners and edges, worn out by age. He mentally noted their sweet smell and soft touch, but became more alert when he noticed the text.

Mythical beasts: Hell Hounds, also known as Cerberus the Dog of the Underworld.

He skimmed the page quickly and placed the book back down. Sherlock was a strange man, who had no time for fairy tales or anything that wasn't relevant to reality. Looking at the other books, he found another. This time the topic was also another fictional tale, but one that was more interesting to Lestrade. Edgar Allen Poe's the pit and the Pendulum. Surely this was a mere coincidence? He sighed, not understanding why Sherlock would have any of these stories open, or even in his possession. His usual was books on math, science and the human body, paired with observation and criminal investigation...not monsters and horror stories.

A large rumble of thunder echoed through the dark empty room and Lestrade sat back down. Staring off out the window as the ambulance drove off to the hospital. He figured he would do Sherlock the favor, and dispose of all the drugs in the house, and hopefully get him on the right path...without losing his head.

Night fell and Detective Lestrade walked into the hospital and walked over to the lady at the reception desk.

"How may I help you detective" she smiled.

"Hello Hannah, I'm looking for a Sherlock Holmes" she smiled and quickly went through her registry. After a few moments she looked up at him, her smile now gone and replaced with a more sorrowfully blank expression.

"What, what's wrong?"

"He been reported as mentally unstable and is being detained in a secure room. I can let you see, but for your safety you might not want to enter"

"I'll be fine"

"Room 305, on the end of the last hall to your right" she pointed to the doors and Lestrade nodded, walking off. There was a loud bustling of people in the main hall, elderly folk walking around, doctors and nurses flipping through pages of books and several alarms going off. As he neared the end of the last hall, he could hear something more comical than sad.

"I will rip your lungs out through your-"

"If you don't stop we will have to sedate you"

"I'd like to see you and your little whore here try."

"Nurse, get the tranquilizers"

"That won't be necessary" Lestrade said as he approached the room. The doctor and the nurse stood just by the door as Sherlock lay, strapped into his bed, teeth clenched together and arms tugging at the restraints.

"Detective, tell these fucking loons that I'm perfectly able to leave"

"Sherlock, you went into a seizure"

"Dammit, is there anybody I can talk to"

"Detective, we have to put him under for the night"

"Just give me a few minutes, nurse"

"Just ten" Lestrade nodded and the two others walked out of the room. Giving Lestrade and Sherlock freedom to talk.

"Why did you call the paramedics?"

"You could have died."

"You should have let me."

"That's never the option Sherlock, as a man of the-"

"Oh fuck you" he growled at Lestrade, tugging more at the restraints. Their white and grey leathery surface, rubbed against Sherlock's wrists the more he pulled, making them raw on the edges. He glanced over at the door, where the doctors were waiting to enter.

"SOMEBODY HELP THIS MANS HARRASING ME" the doctors quickly entered and Lestrade stood baffled.

"Sherlock, stop this"

"Please, help me" he called again, whimpering a little.

"Sir please comes with us"

"Nonsense, he's just pulling your leg."

"please, I can't take it anymore...remove him, please" Sherlock began to play it up, fake tears rolling down his cheeks as the doctors grabbed Lestrades' wrists and drug him out of the room and into the lobby.

"No more harassing the patients."

"I wasn't"

"We know...but if he continues shouting, somebodies bound to get angry and cause a scene" the nurse whispered.

Lestrade walked out of the hospital into the cold, wet air. He stood for a moment, staring at the rain coming down, through the light of the lamps in the parking lot. A few people walked past him, as they entered the building quickly to get out of the rain. His thoughts turned to Sherlock. Watching him pull at the restraints and then remembering I'm as the paramedics carted him out of his house. The day had been long and he was ready to go home, get himself a drink and go to bed.

Before he could make his way back to his car another vehicle drove up right in front of him. It was a black Mercedes Benz. The window rolled down slightly and a voice called to him.

"Detective Lestrade, for you" said the mysterious person. Lestrade walked a little closer and the man handed him a letter and before Lestrade could say anything, he sped away. The letter was cold in his hands, and stamped shut with wax. He turned the envelope over in his hands and slowly made his way to his car, placing the letter on the passenger seat. For a moment, he sat in his car; the darkness surrounded him in silence. He could barely see the letter on the other seat and smirked hoping maybe it didn't exist.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: yay chapter 2 is up :D there are others up next that i have finished. please review i need to know what you all think :D Allons-y!**

Sherlock spent the next few weeks in the hospital, getting clean and off the drugs safely before they could ship him off to a rehab center. The doctors and nurses were very excited to get rid of him. They were tired of how he would walk through the halls and try to diagnose the patients with things that they didn't have. Although some of the time he was right and they were able to start treatment immediately, but most of the time he would just harass the people. His hall became a bustling center of attention most days, as he would start a commotion about what they were serving for lunch, or even what kind of pillows they replaced. But to avoid arguments, most of the time they just did what he asked, such as changing the channel every few minutes, cooling or heating his room and once even ordering him take out.

"What's it like, to be ordered around?"

"Not much fun" said this one female nurse who had been told to clean his room up.

"Such a pity a face like yours is going wasted in the back of this hospital."

"You think I'm pretty?"

"Quite the opposite really, you could use some sun or even some fixing of this"

"That would be my entire face"

"Exactly" the rest of her visit was quite, Sherlock observed and she rushed to get out of his presence.

"Sherlock" he perked up his head, and saw a man standing in his doorway.

"Come to rub it in brother?"

"Well, that would be an idea that had come to mind, but no."

"What a shame, once in a lifetime to see me at the mercy of others"

"From the looks of it, you're still in charge. That girl left here pretty fast. What you do? Insult her?"

"Just some constructive criticism"

"About her job, right..."

"No."

"Then what"

"Her face" he looked at his brother. And cringed a little. "It was a little crooked and pudgy..."

"That's not what people are supposed to say"

"Then what do 'people' say"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing that they don't have to"

"Well I had to"

"Mr. Holmes" said another nurse as she walked into the room

"Yes"

"Yes" they both replied. The woman blushed a little.

"Right, Mycroft Holmes" she smiled at Sherlock and looked at his brother. "You've got a letter" she handed him a letter sealed with wax, and walked away.

"Fan mail?"

"Wouldn't that be interesting" Mycroft smirked.

"I hear you're the queens guard dog now...you enjoy playing fetch?"

"I do my work as I'm told...as for being her dog; I'm much better than that, consider me a handler."

"Well then, you're going to have fun playing in other dogs shit"

"The only shit I'm currently dealing with is yours...you left a pretty big mess to clean up"

"My house is my house; stay out if you don't like it"

"Not that you idiot. Detective Lestrade couldn't keep the police away; they're filing charges against possession of large quantities of drugs and other illegal things."

"Well, I suppose you won't have to clean up after me then"

"That is if you want to go to jail, then I can call everything off. I'm trying to get you set free. I have that power you know"

"Oh really now? Wouldn't that be abuse of power, freeing a man because he's your brother? What about protecting your government and queen"

"The government needs you."

"Oh how long I've been waiting to hear those words, brother."

"Yes, nice. Well they are also trying to evict you. I had to ask Mrs. Hudson to say a few nice things about you."

"You had to ask her to say nice things?"

"Well, she knows she owes you a little, so it wasn't hard to get her to agree. But she was afraid she was lying"

"I am a nice person"

"That's debatable. You're being released to Rehab tomorrow. I'll come to collect you and take you myself." Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. Lying back in his bed, which was tilted to be like a chair. The room smelled of clean solvents, and medicine. It was a sickening smell and Mycroft was starting to get nauseous.

"I'll be leaving now, Sherlock. I can't stand the smell of this pitiful room. See you tomorrow" before Sherlock could acknowledge his brothers farewell, he was already down the hall.

"A suspected serial killer strikes again. Two were found dead this morning in Cardiff bay. Details on how they were killed are still under wraps to prevent copy cats from taking action. Reporters say that the two were sisters who had just gotten back from war. They were visiting friends last week when they went missing around midnight. Updates tonight at ten." Sherlock listened to the news. He wanted to get out, solve the case but the hospital refused to let him out, even with a shadow. He sulked in his chair, wondering if he could sneak out of rehab long enough to solve it. He needed details, something that could link them together, and something that would be missed by authorities. But that was near impossible. He neither had images or access to reports or bodies.

That night the halls were more quiet than he was used to. Some of the lights flickered from the wind outside and he could hear the cables humming as they were struck by the air. Sherlock was no longer tied to his bed; he hadn't been for about two weeks. But he was still hooked up to monitoring systems that would go off if he unhooked himself, and alert the whole hospital. Sherlock lay in bed all night, thinking about the newest deaths from the serial killer.

He sat in the car with Mycroft, not paying attention or speaking. Mycroft was expecting Sherlock to put up more of a fight when they left for the rehab center, but he got none whatsoever. Her was deep in thought, wondering what linked everybody together.

"Why did you turn to drugs?" Mycroft asked, trying to break some of the silence in the car. The brothers continued to sit in silence.

Turning his head away from the window Sherlock looked over at his brother and thought momentarily.

"Do you have a cigarette" he asked painfully, like he was having some sort of withdrawal.

"Answer my question..."

"And then will you give me one?"

"You know I don't carry any"

"Damn it Mycroft" he growled, looking out the window once more. "I was bored..."

"So you try to kill yourself?"

"It wasn't an attempt, just a bit of fun before the end of the line. It was either that or baking cookies and you can see why I chose the drugs"

"You're a blind man Sherlock."

"And you're a fool."

"Now Sherlock, when we get there. You have to be nice to the people, or the charges will be upheld."

"What Charges?"

"Did you not hear what I told you yesterday?"

"Yes, you said something about how I was needed and that Mrs. Hudson-"

"Not that"

"Then I have no idea what you're talking about." he scoffed. Mycroft rolled his eyes and turned into a driveway with some trees and grass. The trees were glowing a soft greenish orange as the cool fall air touched their leaves, knocking them off a little.

"Much better than your dirty flat, now isn't it Sherlock" he looked over at his brother, who was frowning at the building next to them. "Isn't it Sherlock", he repeated. Sherlock looked at Mycroft and gave him a blank stare before getting out of the car.

"What's the minimum amount of time I have to stay here?"

"Oh just you enjoy your stay now...the world will be fine without you for a while."

"I have worked to do."

"Yes, here. Now don't you attempt to leave, you will be arrested."

"And if I stay?"

"If you stay, make a full recovery then you can leave in a couple months."

"More people will die."

"Since when do you care about people?"

"Since when do you care about me? And don't pretend that you do...it's the family name thing isn't it"

"c'mon, we have to check in" he said, grabbing a few bags and walked into the building. Sherlock stood outside, staring at its blank brick walls and open sign on the door. The facility looked rather cold and boring. He was sure they only had outdated magazines and books on recovery. He needed food, real books. And hopefully a working computer. When he entered, he was hit with a cool breeze of clean, sanitized air. The walls lacked color, and the people behind the desk seemed troubled, tired and annoyed. They saw the same kind of people every day and looked like their lives have become boring and unchanged.

"Hello, I'm Mycroft Holmes; I'm here to register my brother Sherlock Holmes"

"Please, don't treat me like a child"

"I wouldn't have to but you left me no choice"

"You really were mother favorite."

"Don't play this game right now."

"You just told me I was acting like a child, now I can't play games?"

"Just sign here sir, and we'll see to it that he gets to his room" the lady at the desk said. Mycroft smiled and nudged Sherlock in front of him.

"Now brother play nice..." Sherlock rolled his eyes and grimaced, throwing him the finger as the lady walked him over to his room. The sterility of the facility was horrible, as was his room. His room consisted of a bed, with brown blankets, and white pillows. Of course the carpet was white but the walls were a faint baby blue, which almost made him shout with anger.

"The color"

"Your brother picked it out" said the lady. "Said it was your favorite" Sherlock had half a mind to run out of the room and strangle Mycroft, but he realized he would be facing more than just jail time if he did.

"You may leave"

"Are you sur-"

"Get OUT" he shouted, dropping his bags to the ground and pulling a little at his hair. The anger he felt towards Mycroft was but a small feeling compared to how it felt to be trapped in a facility that meant to 'help' him where he needed no help. He sighed looking at his bed, and walked into the bathroom, feeling a cold sweat take over him. His eyes were a little red, and his face was slightly pale and a strange feeling wracked his body as he came off his seizure medication. The doctors said he was strange, not having any symptoms of withdrawals. But Mycroft let him have just enough to keep him going till rehab...the hospital was getting tired of his shit real fast.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: this is the last pre-written chapter, from now own you guys have to wait :( im sorry, im working hard :D dont forget to review!**

The nights started out normal. He attended a dinner in the cafeteria. They served the shittiest macaroni he had ever eaten, and they made him eat it too. They were all observed by a leader, who was always going on about happiness and positivity. Which, he was sure could be considered harassment...but he wasn't going to peruse it. The man's marriage was failing, his clothes dirtier than the others showed his lack of care in himself. But he was covered in cologne, covering up the smell that came with a lack of bathing. Sherlock also noticed he had been lacking in sleep, and was probably abusing drugs and alcohol himself.

Sherlock made it to bed, laying half dress in the bed, when he noticed secretly had restraints on the sides. After a few moments of trying to remove them, he figured they had to be put there in every room, and tried to make it into something less, than over thinking it. The blankets he was laying on were cold and more comfortable than he first realized, and slowly he was starting to sink into a sleep. He lay, only in his trousers, letting the cool air touch his chest, and blow over his face. He exhaled deeply, letting out all the air in his lungs as he felt a surge of heat come over him. He clenched his fists and rolled over.

He had a pang of emptiness within him, his hands tightened and his body started to shake.

"m-m-mycrof-fff-t" he stuttered out, closing is eyes tightly. The feeling was overwhelming, his body was starting to go into convulsion again, and he hit the side of the bed with his closed fist, over and over again till part of his skin broke and began to bleed. He muffled his screams using his pillow, but some of his faint moans went through the halls.

"LET ME OUT" he shouted loudly, tossing is pillow to the floor. His body was now dripping in sweat and he was as white as a ghost in the dark night. His heart now racing with desire, and his breathing ragged and labored he fumbled towards the door, sinking beside it's cool surface, placing his hands upon the cold wood. He thought himself strong, but tears dripped across his cheeks as he tried to grasp at the wood. Sherlock tried to reach for the doorknob, but his hands slipped from its metal surface and dropped back down to his side. Closing his eyes, he looked up towards the ceiling, feeling some of the cool air from the ceiling fan across him again, trying to calm himself.

Trying to regain his composure, he walked into the bathroom, turning on the light and stared at his reflection, which looked weak and hollow. The pressure from inside was building and he could no longer see through the blur of his watery eyes and the struggle from the strong desire. It became a burning itch within him.

"let me out...let me out. somebody" he mumbled. "I can do it on my own" now shivering, he wiped his eyes and looked at himself again, heaving and dripping. the mirror was lying, showing him everything he hated about himself...he hated himself like this, under somebodies control, and he felt it, the way to make it go away.

quickly he balled up his fist, and threw it towards the glass, crashing against its surface and shattering it to pieces. the glass surrounded his hand quickly, and lodged itself into his hand. the pain was satisfying, and the sight of his blood was pleasurable as he felt the warm liquid drip down his hand and across the glass that lay on the floor. of course he had made a mess but it wasn't something that bothered him. there was no more pull from the inside of him, no more desire to run and scream his way to find his fix. he smiled, touching his blood with his free hand and started pulling the pieces of glass out of his hand, he pulled off his pants and sat in the bathtub, running the water on hot as he stared at the blood dripping from his hand, off onto his chest and down into the water, turning it reddish pink.

he heard some footsteps running down the hall and then his door open. several people walked into his room and looked around, before standing outside his bathroom.

"Sherlock, what's wrong"

"don't be such an ass...you know what wrong." the nurse looked down at the glass and blood and sent a man into the room to see what had happened. he looked into the bathtub and saw Sherlock sitting there naked with blood dripping across the side of the tub and into the water.

"we're going to move you to solitary"

"fuck off."

"Mr. Holmes...this is for your safety"

"bullshit, there are people worse than me, you only take me because my brother paid you, and you're all a bunch of greedy selfish bastards"

"that's enough" said a voice from outside the room. it was a slightly kinder tone, and threw Sherlock off focus from yelling at the male nurse next to him.

"get dressed"

"what part of f-"

"I said enough; don't make me come in there"

"you've pissed off " said the female nurse standing by the door, she found it a little funny and tried to stifle a laugh. Sherlock assumed the other man had sent a glare towards the nurse, for she stopped laughing and everything went silent again. Sherlock sighed, leaning back into the tub and closing his eyes.

"it's pitiful isn't it? dedicating your worthless lives to helping people who are trying everything they can to escape this horrid reality."

"stand up" the man said as he pulled out some rubber gloves and put them on. Sherlock reluctantly stood up and the man realized how tall he was, and felt a little out of his safe zone.

"what, havnt seen a naked man before…you did tell me to stand up"

"just put your clothes on, we'll take you to medical and then get you set up in another room."

"and what if I refuse…" he grinned at the man, trying to intimdate him, which was actually working out great for him.

"I-I uhhh, we would have to sedate you." The nurse fumbled.

"would you call my brother?"

"that would be an option." Sherlock sighed and just looked down at the man. " , please put your clothes on."

"no." he said flatly, wondering what they would do.

"im not going to ask you again"

"thank god…" a girl walked into the room and sherlock just looked at her, not giving any expression. It was the girl form earlier at the desk, hannah, he remember.

"Sherlock, please." She said kindly, not taking any notice to him not being clothed. She seemed used to it, but respected it enough to send in another man first. "the doctor would like to take a look at your hand, but we cant do it here. So if you wouldn't mind getting dressed." Sherlock looked at her, and then back at the other guy in the room.

"fine." He said. "but that's it."

"you don't have a choice-" the man started.

"thank you" hannah interrupted.

Sherlock quickly dressed, smearing his blood across his arm as the doctors drained the bathtub of the blood red water. The other people had already left his room grabing his bags and moving them down to another hall.

"this way" Hannah said taking Sherlock towards the infirmary.

"the doctor is"

"one of our best…" she replied as they reached the white door. The curtains were drawn and there was only a small lamp on in the room. Opening the door, she ushered him in. " , your patient." She called into the empty room. "see you later Sherlock" she smiled and walked out, leaving him alone in the room.

A man came out from the back of the room; he had clean cut hair and was wearing a brown jumper and a doctor's coat.

"hello, Mr. Holmes I'm Dr. John Watson." he said kindly, smirking at the man standing by the door. "if you can, please take a seat right over here." John pointed towards a bench near his table and Sherlock took a seat on it, looking around the room a little before looking back at the doctor. John took a seat at his desk next to the bench and rolled his chair closer.

"army doctor…"

"yes, did Hannah tell you?"

"lucky guess." He smirked.

"right, now please hold out your hand" Sherlock handed john his left hand, allowing him to grab it. "no other hand please…I need to see your cuts" rolling his eyes, Sherlock switched hands and John grabbed it with his hands. Touching gloved fingers over the large gashes, Sherlock winced a little; forgetting how much pain he had caused himself when he punched the mirror.

"mirrors don't fight back" john joked.

"but people do."

"you prefer mirrors to people?"

"I prefer drugs to people."

"I see. any history of family drug abuse?"

"none."

"so why did you do it? just curious" he said turning his hand over and looking at the other cuts.

"seemed more fun than just dying…that and It helps me think" glancing up from Sherlocks hand, he looked his face over, seeing the hardened edges around his eyes, which seemed pained and empty.

"well, I can see you don't wish to go to solitary, it's in your eyes. I can keep you here over night while I work, I have night shift. Just this once" he smiled, inputting Sherlock's data into his computer. "and next time you think about punching somebody or something please call me"

"I can punch you?" Sherlock inquired.

"no" john chuckled. "but I can help you relieve some of that tension from your withdrawals."

"who said I'm having withdrawals"

"you did, well your body did."

"so you're a telepath"

"I'm a doctor"

"tell me, what am I thinking?" he closed his eyes and placed his hands on his temples.

"just call me next time. And I'll have to put some stitches in your hand…you did some pretty bad damage to it. lucky you can even move it."

" ."

"call me John"

"John, why did you switch from fighting crazy people to helping crazy people?"

"they need my help, and Crazy isn't a nice word Sherlock"

"nobody who puts themselves in this sort of situation needs help."

"I beg to differ."

"that just makes you a greedy bastard, preying on people who you "think" needs help, and bringing them in to a cold, strange facility. Depriving them of the stuff that makes their life better. And you call that help"

"I understand you're having some issues adjusting so why don't you just take a seat over near that table and I'll get the stuff ready for your stitches" Sherlock stared blankly at John as he walked off to get the supplies. None of his insults got to him; he just smiled and played along with it. strange, he thought to himself.


	4. Chapter 4

John sat quietly, stitching up Sherlock's hand, he would occasionally wince and john would stop. After about an hour of stop and go, he finally finished the stitches and wrapped up Sherlock's hand.

"please don't punch any more mirrors"

"then what shall I hit?"

"how about nothing. Sherlock, if you become a problem here" he stopped and looked up at Sherlock

"problem?"

"yes, a problem, you will be put away as a ward of the state."

"what are you suggesting " he said upset.

"I'm saying you need to not injure yourself, or others. That includes breaking things." John sighed and cleaned up the table, wiping it down and stretching. There is a bed in the back, I'll write down you needed overnight supervision by a doctor. I'll wake you at the end of my shift.

"if…I need to call you?"

"I'll be here"

"no I meant during the day, not that I will but I'm just curious" Sherlock said not wanting to show that he might need somebody who he could talk to.

"there are plenty capable doctors that will be here when I'm not. But for right now, go lie down…and just sleep" he smiled and rolled over to his computer, to finish up his work. John didn't tell Sherlock that he was pulling the night shift for this case only, he was a day time doctor and the occasional extra shift made him feel better about himself…better about the lives he lost in war.

After a few moments john turned his chair around and watch Sherlock lay on his side, away from the door. He appeared to be asleep but he wasn't going to bother him. john noticed something strange about Sherlock, he was oddly aware of who he was and what he was doing, compared to most of the addicts that were at the facility. Going back to his computer, he noticed a strange email from a Mycroft Holmes.

From: Mycroft Holmes

To: John Watson

Sent: Saturday, October 12, 2012 11:30 PM

Subject: Sherlock Holmes

I know who you are and what you do. You're the best Doctor at the center and I advise you, that my brother is very hard to work with. Although based off your skills and thanks to Hannah, your Resume; I consider myself grateful that you are the one to be helping my troubled brother.

-MH

John sat baffled at the letter, and felt a warm feeling come over him. although he knew nearly nothing about the man in the room next to him, it felt wonderful to know somebody trusted him the way the man's brother seemed to.

From: John Watson

To: Mycroft Holmes

Sent: Saturday, October 12, 2012 11:45 PM

Subject: Re: Sherlock Holmes

Thank you for trusting me in this service Mr. Holmes. your brother is in good hands here and we well continue to monitor him and update you if you'd like. Although he seems a bit unruly at first, he does seem to be aware of himself and what his condition is. It may be hard to keep him occupied since he is aware of everything, unlike the rest of our patients.

Watson

He sent off the reply and got up to get some coffee. Walking over to the door, he put the closed sign on and walked out towards the lounge. A few other people were in there already, and had heard that he was watching the famous sherlock. They had already been aware of who he was and who he was related to before he did, so they just stared as he walked in.

"how is he?"

"what's he like?" asked a female nurse.

"I heard his brothers connected to the queen" said another. John sighed, and poured himself a drink.

"the moment he walked in, I bet you couldn't wait to get him under your watch" said a man who was leaning against a counter; John's acquaintance of several years, Miles. They didn't get along very much, and Miles was always making fun of him.

"oh what do you know." John replied angrily.

"whose dick did you have to suck to get a patient that's family could buy out the building?"

"whose did you have to suck to get a degree?" the ladies in the room laughed at the strange argument and watched John walk out of the room, and miles stood beaten from the argument. Walking out into the main hall of the rehab center, a tall man stood at the desk, chatting with a receptionist.

"hello, Doctor Watson, I presume?" he put his hand out to shake. John took his hand and shook it awkwardly and smiled.

"Y-yes" he said looking over at the receptionist who seemed dazed by the man in front of her him "am I expecting somebody?"

"oh, sorry, I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade. Sherlock and I have worked together; in fact I brought him to the hospital last month"

"brilliant, is there something you need?"

"give him this, it's the details on the recent killings, he's our best man for the job"

"he's got classes to attend"

"oh I'm sure you can find a way to get him some free time." John took the thick envelope and smiled.

"sure, actually he had an incident earlier this evening and is in the infirmary." John said sadly. "but he's ok, just sleeping. They were…"

"solitary?"

"yeah." Lestrade looked down sadden, and placed a false smile upon his face. "well, I'll let you get back to your work; I'm just on my way home for the night."

"alright, night Inspector" John shook his hand once more before grabbing his coffee and heading towards his office again. Looking into the back room, Sherlock was wrapped up in the blanket, on his back. John couldn't be sure, but he thought Sherlock had been crying and frowned a little. He put the envelope in his drawer and would give it to Sherlock in the morning. But for now, he had to stay up and make sure everything was ok.

The night seemed endless for John as he sat willfully at his computer, going to sites and writing a little. He received no more messages from Mycroft, and hoped that he wouldn't have to send any bad reports to him in the future. He did however; get a message from an old friend he was in the army with. They chatted for a little while about where they had been and what they had done. John had been shot, walked around with a sort of limp. Nobody believed him but then again, it didn't matter what anybody thought. He had convinced himself that he was alright, that he never would need anybody again. The pain of losing people was horrendous and often plagued him at night.

But watching Sherlock sleep, it was a different kind of feeling, the feeling of being needed instead of needing. Putting that feeling in the back of his mind he went back to writing his friend. As the conversation got longer, the hours to sunrise became shorter and soon the sun was up and glistening in his window. Of course, the room Sherlock was in, was dark and separate from the rest of the infirmary, so he would sleep.

John was used to not sleeping, he suffered from many nightmares and was on medication for them, but sometimes he would rather stay awake than take them. Sherlock usually didn't dream, but this night he did. John had been sitting back in his chair, with his legs up and dozing a little, but not enough to dream. He was thinking about stuff, people and his job. Hearing some rustling noises in the room, he figured Sherlock had woken up and was about to walk in and say good morning, but instead he sat for a moment, and realized Sherlock was having nightmares. Of what he didn't know, but he had to wake him up. Slowly john walked into the room, seeing Sherlock tense, wrapped up and tears streaming from his eyes, he patted his shoulder.

"Sherlock, wake up. It's just a dream" John said. Sherlock fumbled with his blanket trying to move his arms. "Sherlock-"john stepped back as Sherlock opened his red, watery eyes. His face was full of rage and pain. Before John could do anything, he was pinned against the wall. Sherlock was using all his strength.

"where am I?" he demanded.

"Sherlock, you're in a rehab center"

"The Fuck I am…now tell me the truth"

"I-I'm Jo-John Watson." He stuttered, unable to move. He was scared in a different way. Not the "I'm going to die" scared, but "what the hell is he doing" scared. John didn't like being in the receiving end of anything violent, and was always on that end. He sighed, trying to push Sherlock away.

"you were having a nightmare, you're awake. Let go and we can forget this happened."

"Doctor Watson, you have a letter" said a female from outside.

"J-Just a minute Hannah" he called the best he could. "let me go, we can talk about this later" Sherlock released john and backed up, rubbing his eyes and realizing where he was. John had already left the room and was at his desk, opening the letter. Sherlock sat back down on the bed, and rubbed at his matted hair, quickly noticing one hand was wrapped and the other was sore.

Just as before, the letter was in a plain envelope and sealed in wax. John didn't know Lestrade had received one, in fact, Lestrades' envelope got lost in the car that night as he left the hospital. The envelope had a strange musty smell to it and so did the letter. John became confused quickly as he pulled out the crumpled up paper from within its confines. The paper was dirty, torn and bent in all ways possible.

_Born as one, he exists as three. The number doubled, and tripled is he. Beware._

John read the note over and over and turned to Sherlock, wondering if he would understand it. But Sherlock wasn't where he last saw him. he was on the floor, shaking like a leaf.


	5. Chapter 5

** A/N: HERE IT IS GUYS! CHAPTER 5...this chapter was actually a lot of fun writing, well, more towards the end and you'll find out why soon enough! please review, id love to hear your thoughts! enjoy!**

"C'mon Sherlock" john said grabbing Sherlock and picking him up onto the bed. The man's shaking was almost violent and john had to lay him down on the bed. Something told him it wasn't just the dreams, but the drugs leaving his system…the list of things Sherlock had been on was quite long but one of his favorites was cocaine. He hadn't been on it long enough to do permanent damage, but combined with the rest of the drugs; It was amazing he was still in such good mental shape.

Minutes passed and finally the shaking passed and Sherlock laid panting and sweating on the bed, staring up at blank white ceiling. Sherlock felt the seconds pass, each stroke of the clock and each beat of his heart. Something wasn't right. The doctors wouldn't know, but this feeling, this feeling wasn't the same as it was the last time he came off drugs. It wasn't familiar.

"j-j-jo-joh-nnn" Sherlock reached out with his hand and gripped Johns hand as tight as he could, which by this time wasn't very strongly. Saliva was now dripping from his mouth, and he was fighting to keep himself conscious. "pppp-poi-poison" he whimpered, breath coming out of his throat slowly and loudly. Before John could call anybody, Sherlock was already passed out. Walking quickly he picked up his phone and called the front desk to call in Detective Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes.

Ten minutes later the two arrived almost at the same time and were escorted to the infirmary where Sherlock lay unconscious.

"hello, I'm Doctor John Watson" he said, introducing himself to Mycroft and shaking both his and Lestrades hands.

"John, what's going on" Lestrade asked first, sitting down in one of the chairs.

"I would have called the hospital or something, but being a doctor myself I knew it wasn't really as bad as it sounds…"

"get on with it" Mycroft said slightly annoyed he had been called all the way to the rehab center.

"It appears he's been poisoned. He kind of told me. dont worry, i sorted it out."

"and you believe him?"

"I believe his medical records. he broke his first addiction only to start again. I trust a man who can tell the difference between withdrawals and poison. Especially one with a mind like his." John opened up the medical files and placed them on his desk. "considering your relationship to him, I hope both of you are aware of his past records, both with the police and with the hospital."

"so what do I have to do with it, obviously if he was poisoned, it wasn't here…"

"precisely, but I got this strange letter earlier and I wanted to have you look at it" handing over the strange envelope to Lestrade, his eyes widened a little as he realized he had received one too.

"I got one of these the day Sherlock was put in the hospital…"

"what did it say?"

"I lost it…might still be in the car." He admitted sheepishly. Lestrade turned it over and then pulled out the paper, reading the warning several times over. Mycroft, who became a bit curious about the letter, swiped it from the Detectives hand and read it out loud. He too had received one but seemed to know something about it the others didn't.

"sounds like a prank, pay no mind to it John" he said smirking. the way Mycroft said johns name, sounded almost like an endearment, and he found it strange. John just smiled weakly and put the envelope back in the desk when Sherlock's brother handed it back.

"I'll go check into everything, see if I can find some people who might have poisoned Sherlock, in the mean time I urge you to keep watch over him." John smirked, knowing Lestrade wouldnt find much on his end, and turned back to Mycroft.

"he has classes, what do you want me to do? I can't just hold his hand all day."

"no, that's true" Lestrade exchanged looks with Mycroft and then they both turned back to John. "take him back to his flat, I'll pay you to watch him" Mycroft said.

"he has to be discharged. I can't just release him"

"he was never registered. It was only a ruse to keep him here and away from the drugs long enough. How else do you think I got your email? I requested you directly, and now I'm going to do it again."

"y-yessir"

"the address is 221B Baker street, Mrs. Hudson will let you in. there will be a car waiting outside when Sherlock wakes up." Mycroft said ushering Lestrade out the door ahead of him. "and don't tell him about this little deal?"

"wouldn't dream of it sir." For several moments, john stood in shock as the two walked casually down the hall. He was working for Mycroft Holmes now; Sherlock was unconscious and within the confines of his desk, laid a strange message from an unknown person.

The rest of the morning was surreal to him. he opened up the window in his office, and let in the cool October air. The curtains rustled with the breeze and the sun beamed through them softly, lighting up Johns Desk. Mycroft had already told the facility that he would be leave for an undetermined amount of time, and they told him to clean up his office before leaving.

Miles came in a little while later holding an empty box.

"looks like you hit it big, privateer." He sneered placing the box on John's desk. John sat calmly, trying not to knock the man out, as he started up with his remarks as he always did. "I'm assuming you fucked his brother?"

"fuck you" he growled, taking the box and tossing it on the floor behind him.

"i bet you'd love to." Miles laughed.

"but I did shag your sister" John laughed, he wouldn't have touched anyone in Miles's family, but the look on his face was funny.

"are you serious?" he asked shocked. John, having seen his sister once while Miles was away, knew what her house looked like and decided it would be a good thing to use.

"yeah, on her really nice leather couch…" Miles, now bewildered backed up a little. "oh yeah, really good, but she was worried you would come home, so we took it to the spare room…by the way, isn't that where you stay now?"

"good luck John" he said before walking out of the room disgusted. John just stood there and laughed for a moment before returning to his things.

"lies, all lies. But good ones at that, I will admit" John stopped hearing a deep baritone voice behind him. turning around, he saw Sherlock standing against the wall staring at him.

"afternoon, Sherlock. Your brother stopped by" he said carefully. "he's hired me to watch you at home, so we're going back to your flat. There should be a car to pick us up soon"

"you've got to be kidding me." He said almost annoyed but almost relieved at the same time.

"what do you mean?"

"oh nothing" he said smiling when John turned around. Pocketing something he had in his hands he let out a deep breath and watched the man put his things away. Johns hair was a fluffy mess from no sleep, and he was no longer wearing his coat, but just his brown jumper.

"you really did stay up all night didn't you?"

"of course, its my job."

"you're dedicated" he said, walking forward to the front of Johns desk. "a true soldier" he added. John didn't know the importance of those words, and he wouldn't for a very long time but until that time, John just smiled and went back to what he was doing. Sherlock sat around for the next ten minutes until John was packed and then they made their way out of the facility. Sherlock realized that all his things that he had when he arrived had already been shipped back to his flat and he felt a little curious as to what was going on.

Mrs. Hudson let them into the house no problems; she smiled upon the return of Sherlock, one of her better guests. Mycroft had told her he went to visit a friend after the incident, and that, that friend would be coming to stay with him for a while.

"hello Mrs. Hudson, this is John Watson." He said throwing his coat onto the couch and staring out the window.

"hello John, we have an extra bed upstairs if you need it."

"of course I'll need it" He added. Ignoring that comment Mrs. Hudson wandered off around the corner as the two seemed to settle in a bit.

"nice, this could be very nice"

"right? I thought so myself." Sherlock smiled at John and fiddled with some stuff before sitting down. "so what is my brother getting you? Dropped charges? Money? Tickets to Hawaii? Wait no; you don't look like the vacationing type"

"then what type do I look like?" Sherlock bit his lip a little, finding some things about John he wasn't going pop off with right away.

"the silent type, that if I hadn't known you were a soldier, I would say you would most likely be sitting behind a desk."

"oh" john replied, wondering what was going on inside Sherlock's mind.

"I looked you up last night"

"really?"

"I found your website"

"what do you think?" Sherlock replied excitedly. He seemed secretly thrilled that this other person wanted to know about him and hadn't jumped to conclusions even after the events of the previews day, and earlier that morning. It had almost seemed like John didn't care, like he just wanted to help and be a friend no matter what kind of person he was doing it for. Of course, each person had their limits and Sherlock was wondering what sort of limits doctor john Watson had. What was his breaking point when it came to people and what kind of person was he behind the doctor mask he was wearing.

Sherlock started his deductions. A large sweater indicating he liked either a) comfort or b) security. Comfortable flat shoes with little damage, yet not brand new said he was a worker not a walker and that would also go along with his soft limp that he pretended he didn't have. Messy hair, he had a habit of running his hands through hit, meant that he was nervous or just had a nervous habit. Most likely from the war, most of his quirks seemed like things he would have brought home with him.

"it's interesting. I still can't believe what you can find out about a person just based on what they are wearing or how they sit"

"yes, it's interesting, the science of observation and deduction."

"you must be a genius." With his back turned, Sherlock smiled a little, maybe he could put up with this man, this simple civilian, as he called most people in his head.

"so when were you planning on giving me he package from Lestrade" he asked curiously, turning to face John and staring down at him mischievously.

"oh, I didn't know you knew"

"hmm, well now that it's out in the open, where is it"

"it's in my box over there, should be on top."

"yes!" he shouted happily as he pulled it out and started looking over the stuff inside it. "4 murders back to back in Cardiff bay, all mangled and destroyed beyond recognition. "

"that…that sounds horrible"

"oh its magnificent John, can't you see?"

"I don't see how murder is uhh magnificent"

"I just is John, it's just is. The thrill of the fight, the adrenaline of survival all packed into one outcome…the inevitable death. But what is most exciting is finding out how the person did it and why." John felt a small urge in him to just walk out the door and forget Mycroft ever offered him this job, but he seemed so happy to talk about it, so happy to have somebody around even if he wasn't going to admit it to anyone.


	6. Chapter 6

** A/N: this is the 6th chapter, one that took me a while to write, due to life annd tumblr getting in the way. but with the constant nagging of my bestie Yara i was able to finish it! FYI I LURV YOU BESTIE!...anyways, i was going to lead up to some johnlock stuff later, but the story seemed to have a mind of its own and decided to work this way. enjoy and leave me reviews! i love hearing your thoughts! also maybe some suggestions too!**

Several hour had passed since the two of the had arrived at the flat on Bakerstreet. Sherlock was overly excited about his case, and john was exhausted from lack of sleep. He listened to his "friend" go one and on about who he think might have killed who, and why. Then he listed off names of people that John actually knew and starting on how they might be involved. It was something to be amazed about.

"you really are brilliant"

"really?"

"very" john added before standing up. He glanced out the window at the dark street below and then walked into the kitchen to make some coffee. He was going to stay up til Sherlock fell asleep, and he had to make sure that there was no more drugs in the house. Sure it felt like he was baby sitting, but that wasn't what he saw it as. It was a new adventure, he had been in the army, seen action and seen people live and die in war. This time the war was somewhere very different. It was a raging battle inside the mind of a person who was the smartest person John Hamish Watson had ever encountered.

Listening to Sherlock go on about the murder, john walke back into the room, only for Sherlock to realize that he hadn't been there listening.

"was I boring you? I should have realized you weren't interested." He frowened clenching his hands and pacing around completely avoiding eye contact with John.

"no, no its fine. I made some coffee if you would like some."

"id love some" Sherlock said, hoping the coffee would be enouh to settle his stomach and mind from all the ruckus that had just recently happened to him. searching the room a little, he tried to find his stuff, as in his drugs.

"John, the house was sweeped before you got here wasn't it."

"I don't know, but I would assume your brother or Detective Lestrade did."

"DAMMIT!"

"w-whats wrong?" John asked calmly.

"I need it, I need m-my" grabbing john by the shoulders he stared into the mans eyes and sighed. "john, please"

"no Sherlock, I will not bend…no drugs, no cigarettes. Nothing" Sherlock let go of john and turned back towards the window.

"you don't understand, my mind its racing , speeding faster than anything in the world, and all the ideas, everything I need is hiding. I need my stuff" placing his coffee down, john walked over to sherlock and grabbed his arm. Sherlock, angry and having problems with his drugs, reacted loudly and violently.

He shoved john down onto the floor, staring over his body like a predator and prey.

"GIVE THEM TO ME" he shouted. A mixture of sadness and anger flooded his face and his voice, leaving only a frustrated expression on his face. Before john could do anything, Sherlock started to break down, with tears streaming down his face in small streaks. Her rubbed them away as quickly as they came and would deny that they ever were there if somebody were to ask him later. Sherlock rocked back and forth on the balls of his heels, staring at John on the floor, wondering what to do next. John on the other hand, couldn't find a way to move out of Sherlocks way, without hitting either a chair or a table.

"Sherlock, there is no need for this. I understand"

"you understand nothing, you're just an idiot."

"I may be an idiot, but im not stupid. Listen Sherlock"

"no, you listen you…" Sherlock bent down towards John, still hovering over him, but kneeling down. "you don't understand a damn thing. War and being a docter is different from being me, Sherlock Holmes. There are certain things that you need to function, this is one thing I need"

"you don't need drugs, just, calm down"

"I AM CALM"

"SHERLOCK!" John pushed himself up, so that he was almost in a sitting position, staring up at Sherlock. "You do not need drugs."

"how do you know?" Sherlock taunted.

"Because, nobody needs it."

"wrong, wrong, wrong wrong wrong wrong!"

"Im a Doctor…"

"and I'm the easter bunny…where did you put them."

"I havnt touched your fucking drugs." John stood up and Sherlock followed. "go to bed." Sherlock stood stunned a little, nobody had ever told him what to do, other than Donovan or Lestrade and those were more like suggestions. "I wont have you running about, making a mess of things. Go to your room, and get some sleep"

"B-but I-"

"Shut up." Sherlock didn't need to pretend to be shocked, because he was. And so Sherlock wandered off to his room sort of hoping he had a stash somewhere in there and slightly wishing he could figure out who and what John was. Laying down upon his bed, Sherlock stared up at the ceiling, a dim lamp light lit up he room and casted shadows about the walls. John had stayed up, sittingin the main room drinking some coffee and listening to the sound of rain come down over them. The fire light lit up the room and had already gone to bed herself; so John had the house almost to himself.

He thought about pulling out his computer and writing, and he thought about checking in on Sherlock. But he couldn't bring himself to terms with this strange man and this strange house being the place and people he was going to live with.

Morning came to pass and john woke up realizing he had slept on the couch all night. He opened his eyes a little, trying to wake himself up. Stretching, john stood up and looked around. The flat appeared to be empty. Walking into the kitchen, he found a glass and got himself something to drink.

John didn't know what time Sherlock woke up, so he walked over to his room and knocked several times.

"Sherlock?" he called softly. There was no answer. Slightly worried, John opened the door and found the bed empty and void of blankets.

"Sherlock?" he called again walking into the room. Suddenly the door slammed shut and John turned around. Sherlock was behind the door, wrapped up in his bed sheet.

"what are you doing!" John was panting and partially out of breath from being startled.

"I could ask you the same question…"

"don't play games with me."

"then don't enter my room."

"I merely came to check on you."

"oh? Well look at me, im alive, you may leave."

"you weren't shooting up, where you?"

"do I look like I have been?"

"well, that depends if standing in your bedsheet is considered normal around here or not."

"what exactly is "normal" to you John?"

"well, certainly not you, but you could have some normal habits, maybe."

"please don't put me in the same category as you dull creatures." John huffed a little at the insult.

"Well, if we're so dull, why is it you that needs babysitting?" Sherlock was quiet. He looked john over several times and sighed, turning away.

"You slept on the couch…"

"does it matter?"

"of course it doesn't, just a fact."

"I spent an entire night watching you…I don't think it matters where I sleep."

"I don't need anything."

"not according to, to this…" John reached out and grabbed Sherlock's arm, and pulled him closer. "you need help, im here to help. Whether you like it or not, I'm here."

"my brother…how much"

"what!?"

"How much is Mycroft paying you?"

"none of your business."

"of course it is."

"how so?" Sherlock wandered off a bit. "how so Sherlock." John sighed deeply and leaned against the door. Sherlock was a bit out of it he noticed. Unable to focus on one thing at a time and he was trying to see everything.

"Sherlock, sit down on the bed."

"no." rolling his eyes, john walked over to Sherlock, grabbing him and tossing him onto the bed. "I said bed, and I said now"

"so its not the money?"

"what?" Sherlock grabbed John's wrists as they were close to him. holding tight he grinned a little.

"you understand me. Its simple human nature"

"I, I think you've been on the drugs too long"

"oh but what if I need a new one?"

"im sorry, drugs are out of the question here. Let go of me"

"I NEED a new drug…doctor" Sherlock whined, still smiling to see if John would catch on. Pulling away, john stepped back.

"Im going to check the fridge and then do some shopping for what we need. Mrs. Hudson will be here with you. Do not leave the flat or I will have the police come and get you." Sherlock became annoyed and rolled his eyes before plopping back on the bed.


	7. Chapter 7

** A/N: this chapter was fun to write! i loved how everything seemed to come together. i think johns a bit confused, ne? well enjoy! review and tell me what you think, and even what you think should happen :D**

John left the room and closed the door, holding it shut for a moment. What was going on with Sherlock? Pushing the idea aside he went into the kitchen. The fridge was in the back of the kitchen. Opening it, John stood in shock, there was a head in the fridge. He slammed the door shut and ran back to Sherlocks room, swinging the door open quickly.

"THERES A HEAD IN THE FRIDGE! A FUCKING HUMAN HEAD!"

"and?" Sherlock replied. Pulling himself out of the daze, John stood there in front of Sherlock, who was now completely naked on the bed staring up at the ceiling.

"you're not wearing any clothes…"

"and you're in MY room" john turned around and walked out of the room, slamming the door.

"the head Sherlock…not keeping it."

"you're offended by a dead head?"

"we're not keeping a human head in the fridge."

"you can name it" Sherlock said sarcastically. Seeing no end to this argument, john pulled on his coat and walked out of the flat. Mrs. Hudson was off in the distance smiling at their "dispute" as she would put it.

Sherlock didn't see why John was so upset by both his nakedness and the head, both of which were quite normal around this house at any given time. The doctor didn't like it one bit, he marched off towards the store and let some of the soft rain fall upon his face before starting off in its general direction. He could take a cab, but he found that the air was what he needed most.

"I NEED a new drug" he mumbled over again. Sherlock was acting strange, for somebody who had just come off drugs, it was normal but this want normal. It was very strange. What did he mean by a new drug? Was he referring to vitamins? Or… john didn't want to understand. He felt that he was getting what Sherlock meant now and he wanted nothing to do with it. there would be no drugs in the house, or anything to make up for his lack of.

Halfway down the street a black car pulled up beside john and a man walked out.

"hello John" said the familiar voice. Turning to the man, John recognized him as Mycroft Holmes.

"Hello Mr. Holmes"

"is my brother pestering you?"

"pestering isn't quite the word, but nothing I cant handle."

"good. Because I might have to give you some bad news." Mycroft looked around and walked over to the car. "get in, we need not make a scene outside." Slightly worried, John opened the car door and got in next to Mycroft.

"whats going on" he asked.

"the letter you got…Lestrade got one and so did I."

"it was a stupid prank you said."

"I say a lot of things." He joked as he pulled out two identical envelopes. "these are the ones that I got and Detective Lestrade got. They both have identical papers inside with matching warnings similar to the one that you got."

"so whats going on?"

"there are people in this world, Doctor Watson. People whose minds parallel Sherlocks. They will stop at nothing to make the world recognize them, no matter how. They will take what they want, and dispose of anything and anyone that gets in their way."

"I don't see how this has anything to do with me, you or Lestrade."

"the detective isn't as dull as one might think, and Me and my brother are quite intelligent…"

"im a doctor." John added.

"yes, but you're working for me and Sherlock. Somebody is putting the pieces together, there will be a war John. And every war has its casualties, this is just a warning. Mind your surroundings." John nodded and stepped out of the car.

"thank you."

"I'll be watching, don't forget" Mycroft said out the window as the car drove away. John felt a bit alone on the street, knowing people were watching his every move. This wasn't one of those thoughts that he could just ignore, but he did try so hard.

Left, right, left , right. Stop. The cars buzzed by un-phased by John. Moving slowly across the wet pavement he focused. Left, right, left , right. Stop. The store was up ahead, the lights clinging to the building, glowing softly as the sky darkened and rain begain to fall harder. John welcomed the rain, it seemed to be as lonely as him. the cold droplets fell down his face, and across his skin. The thought of what Mycroft said was still in his head, he was completely focused and unable to lift the veil of concern that he was given.

Even with the weight of the bags he had in his hands, the walk back to the flat was a solemn one. he was sure the world couldn't get any darker, but nature proved him wrong and turned the sky almost black as time didn't seem to effect it. it was still early, but one wouldn't know, unless they had checked their watches. John looked at his momentarily. It was almost five in the evening, he was eager to get back and make dinner. Hoping Sherlock wouldn't make a fuss about it.

He forgot how many steps there were up to the main room, but by the time he reached the top, he was just happy to be back to care anymore about the stairs. Turning into the kitchen, he dropped the bags down and started putting things away. Sherlock was I the living room, but John hadn't seen him on his way in. this made Sherlock smile a little, they would see each other soon. The groceries were in the fridge, and john had moved the head a little to make room. Not knowing what he was going to do with the head, he just looked at it, wondering what he would call it.

"Arthur" he mumbled and slammed the fridge. Walking into the main room he stopped and almost passed out.

"put some damn clothes on Sherlock."

"I cant"

"cant, or wont"

"cant" Sherlock said. He had his hands pressed together, and was slouching a bit in the chair. One would describe it as a rude, unpleasant way of sitting, even when clothed. "im doing an experiment."

"what, you rub acid or some sort of poison on your testicles?"

"sit down."

"no, get dressed now Sherlock." John demanded, feeling awkard.

"im experimenting, and I need you to sit down. Or I will get up, grab you and force you into a chair, which would make this experiment invalid and I will have no way to find my answers."

"how did I become a part of-" John trailed off and sat down, crossing his ankles and folding his hands into his lap. He felt strange sitting in front of Sherlock who wasn't acting awkward or even in clothes.

"how does this make you feel." He asked.

"you being naked, or you being naked threatening me. Because I find both very, very ummm distracting and awkward."

"distracting, how so?"

"I don't need to explain" he said standing up. "put some clothes on, im going to make some dinner. I expect you to eat" Sherlock felt defeated and stood up, walking into his room. The door slammed and John just stood still, in the living room. He could say Sherlock was delusional, but he seemed like he understood everything that he was doing, which made everything seem odd. John felt a gnawing feeling at the pit of his stomach. He dismissed it as being hungry, but wasn't sure if it was food he wanted…


	8. Chapter 8

** A/N: hope you all had fun reading the story up to this point. i have plans to start making it a little angstier, as you will see in this chapter. i love the darker drabble and i enjoy working with psychopaths...and Sherlock, the high functioning sociopath. anywhositz. im off to bed, i have to clean kitchen and sleep so enjoy this chapter! i know i did :D**

Sherlock sat on his bed, listening to the pots and pans clinking and clanking in the kitchen. John wouldn't be done with dinner for a while, Sherlock was sure of that, as he knew the stove had been acting weird for about a month. He was pleased to know he was right when he heard a string of strong curses coming from the man in the Kitchen. Pulling some pants on and a shirt, he sat on the edge of his bed, staring off at the window which was frosted over.

"oh how I love you" he mumbled, walking over to the window. His large hand touched the frosty surface and he felt the chill go through im. It was almost a pleasurable pain, as he kept his hand against the frozen glass. Down below the window was a group of rough looking teens. He smiled.

"Sherlock!" john shouted from the other room. He paid no attention to the shouting and continued to stare out the window. He would have only one chance. One or he would be caught or die.

"those are good odds, very fun when the steaks are high" he chuckled. Sherlock opened the window widely and crawled out onto its ledge. From outside the room, it did seem a bit farther down than he had first expected, but he noticed that just off to the side was a ladder. He would have to make one leap, and hope he could catch the ladder. He would either land, miss or his weight upon the ladder would pull him down to the ground killing him almost instantly, he was sure of it. the game had just become more fun.

"Sherlock, the stoves on the fritz. Sherlock?" john continued to call as he got no reply from the other man. The cold air from outside hit Sherlock in the face, making him wince a little. The air was messing with his vision, he only had one shot. Making hisjump, he splayed his arms out in front of him, turning quickly mid jump to reach out for the ladder that was aginst the building. There was a loud thud. The sound of metal, bricks and bones all colliding at once. Sherlock was holdng on tightly to the ladder, his eyes were closed and he was prepared to make his decent. Reaching out with one hand to move up the ladder, gravity kicked him and his hand fell backwards and hit…the floor.

Opening his eyes, Sherlock realized the latter had happened. He had fallen. The ladder couldn't support his weight and he was now on the ground. Dazed from the drop, he didn't realize what he broke or hurt, and the puddle of blood he had left on the ground. There was only one thing that he wanted at that moment. Only one thing that could fix everything, make everyone go away and make the strange images, and thoughts vanish. The fall had knocked him around a little and he found it harder to see and very hard to hear. But he was Sherlock, he knew where to go.

The light was now gone from outside. It was late evening and John couldn't get Sherlock to answer his door. Feeling a bit worried he was prepared to kick down his door, but checked it first. The door was unlocked, and the handle was cold as ice. Turning it, the door opened inward to reveal an open window and an empty room. John panicked quickly, searching ever part of the room for possible notes. Suicide was the first thing he thought about, but then he thought about who Sherlock was. He seriously doubted that a mind like his would be so weak that he would kill himself. His suspicions were correct. John peered out the window and saw the puddle of blood on the ground below, but no Sherlock. John reached for his phone and opened up the contact list. First he scrolled down to Detective Lestrade, but he couldn't bring himself to call it. next he went down to Mycroft, but that felt wrong. Like telling on your sibling or schoolmate. Sherlock had to trust john, as john had to trust him.

John looked up at the window which Sherlock hadjumped out off, and saw the ladder next to the blood on the ground. The drapes were silent forJohn had closed the window and told Mrs. Hudson that Sherlock went out for an errand. It was very hard to see in the back streets. He heard some laughter coming from the sewers. It sent chills up his spine. The gushing of the wind down the alleys moaned and wrapped around him, trying to lure him away from his thoughs and his mission. John was determined to find Sherlock before something bad happened. Trying to comfort himself from the thoughts of the people in the dark, he thought about what he was doing earlier, and what he was intending on doing that evening. The ideas of cooking and watching the tv was working for a while, until the laughter started up again and he found himself back in the same situation. Before he could focus on another thought, the idea of what Mycroft had told him earlier entered his mind.

There were people out there who wanted to hurt him and hurt anyone in their path. John needed to find Sherlock quickly, but he couldn't just call out his name could he?

"where are you" he called, hoping Sherlock would just recognize his voice.

"this is a stupid game you're playing, I might tell the police, or worse your brother" still there was no reply. John felt saddened by the fact that he couldn't even find a grown man in the streets but he could save lives in a war. Even then, he had lost many people and he wasn't about to lose another because of drugs. Something that could be fixed, he hoped Sherlock could be the one thing that he could save no matter what.

Marching on, he turned down a narrow alley that lead to another more wider alley. There were some figures in and out of the corners that John figured would be homeless or creeps wandering the streets looking for food or their next victims. He could care less, there was only one person he needed to find and that was his new friend.

"Sherlock" he called after seeing a slumped over figure off in the distance. Fog had settled around the alley and there was no lights; save for the one that John had in his hand.

"what the hell happened" he called again. There was no response. It was indeed Sherlock. John approached the man on the floor. He was leaning against a tall brick building, some frozen rain begain falling and hitting them both on the face. It stung, stung John like needles. Peircing him, forcing him to back away to keep the pain off himself. It almost felt like he was being forced away from Sherlock, although he knew nobody had that sort of power except God…maybe.

"Sherlock, listen to me now. For once in your life, listen to me"

"j-john" he said weakly. He couldn't open his eyes, he couldn't move. Sherlock looked horrible, hair matted with blood, shirt torn with dirt marks and what angered John the most; Sherlocks arms, freshly pierced with needle marks, and the needle still in his other hand.

"Sherlock, we need to get you home"

"let…let me die here"

"Sherlock, please."

"Please" he begged. John had never seen somebody plead for death in the way Sherlock did. In war, there are things one sees and one does that makes death the only way to forget those images. War tears apart ones sanity, torments them with images that are real, forever. Sherlock had found his war and found his peace.

"i-I cant"

"John, kill me please." He said again in a begging voice.

"you cant, not yet"

"when, john. When?" the last word sounded like the question of a child asking their mother when their father was coming home. The idea of waiting for that paradise. John knelt down closer to Sherlock, running his hand through his dirty hair and placing his other on Sherlocks arm.

"I will not kill you, or let you die."

"Pl-Pa-Please" Sherlock cried. " I cant stand this pain, the numbness ! make them go away"

"i…I wish I could" he said trying to comfort Sherlock.

"you know what you have to do" he said faintly.

"no. no no no, no. just no" a bell went off in the distance, it startled John slightly, making him jump a little. Sherlock paid no mind to it.

"the silence, the freedom awaits…and pudding"

"SHERLOCK!" john tapped Sherlock on the cheeks, but the man didn't move. It appeared he wasn't breathing, wasn't living. Wasn't alive. So John sat in the alley, against the brick wall next to Sherlock. His cell in his hands, and his fingers on the numbers. Three calls, that's all he had to make.


	9. Chapter 9

** A/N: hey all! im glad to give you another chapter, it was a bit hard to pull out but i think it came out ok, not as good as the last one but very important. the ball is starting to wobble a little i think, as the plot gets going. enjoy! and please review!**

They were out about a mile from the flat, and it was cold and dark. John didn't know if Sherlock could handle the cold much longer. In fact, john wasn't even sure whether or not Sherlock was alive. He couldn't feel a pulse and there was no reaction to anything john did or said to him. The cold was numbing John own hands.

Inside he was debating who to call. If he called Detective Lestrade, there would be some big deal about the paramedics and the possibility of Sherlock getting locked up for good. On the other hand, if he called Mycroft, there was the issue of getting Sherlock home without calling the paramedics. Mycroft was a smart man; who seemed to care for his brother in a very strange way, so that's who John decided he would call. There was a long pause before he could bring himself to dial the numbers. He felt like he was going to die waiting for Mycroft to pick up, but finally he did

"Help" John said without thinking. "I-its Sherlock"

"What's going on?" he asked calmly. The tone bothered john a little.

"Sherlock ran away, I found him"

"Then what's the issue?"

"He's drugged up…about a mile out and unconscious."

"Do you know your location?"

"Uhhhh" he looked around using his flashlight to determine some sort of marker. "in an alley, several streets away…I smell pies" the phone line went dead and John felt abandoned. He was unaware of what Mycroft was doing or going to do. He leaned back against the cold brick wall and took Sherlock's hand, hoping he could bring some sort of comfort to both of them.

The cold was no longer an issue to Doctor Watson. The cold had long passed and now he sat in the night, holding tight to Sherlock's hand waiting for somebody or something to bring them home. There was no way he would leave Sherlock in the aley to die. There was no way he would let anybody die on his watch ever again. He was used to waiting…war did that to him. He could remember every detail about what he had done and what he had been through during his time in Afghanistan. The people he had seen die before him and the people he had to kill.

His value towards life had been heightened during his time away and now it seemed he just wanted to prove himself worthy of life again. Some days he couldn't justify the things he had done to others or seen others do, and that pained him. The thought of taking away a person's future or being in charge of a person's future was more like playing god in his eyes than defending a country. But it's either kill or be killed out on the battlefield and he would rather live than have more people die because he refused to fight.

The sound of rocks turning over in the distance brought John back to reality for a moment. He could tell they were tires and was reassured by the sound of doors opening and closing.

"Couldn't have picked a worse place" said the man in front. Two men approached John and Sherlock. One for sure was Mycroft but the other was a different man that John had never seen before.

"Well, Sherlock picked it out" John tried to laugh.

"James, get him into the car" the other man nodded and walked over to Sherlock, picking him off the ground. Quickly John released his grip and tried to stand up. The needle that was in Sherlock's hand fell to the ground. Picking it up, John handed it to Mycroft.

"Please, can you tell me what this stuff is?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes…normal drugs don't knock out a person like that"

"I'll send it to a lab when I get back. We'll take you and him home first"

"Thank you Mr. Holmes"

"Thank you for taking care of my brother. If "this" becomes a problem, let me know."

"No worries Mr. Holmes…I uhh, I've got it covered from here."

"Remember what I said earlier, watch your back…" John shook Mycroft's hand and got into the car next to Sherlock, who was slumped over a little. James did his best to make sure that Sherlock wouldn't get knocked around. John smiled a bit and they took off back towards the flat.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door for them rather shocked at the situation. She was completely unaware that either of them had left the house and was worried for Sherlock.

"What happened?" she asked the men.

"We don't know" john said, hoping that would ease her mind a little about Sherlock possibly trying to kill himself. He didn't know where Sherlock had gotten the drugs, or what they were. That bothered him. He had seen many people have secret stores of drugs but the idea that Sherlock was a mile out, with an unknown substance that made even Sherlock want to die; scared him. It completely and utterly scared him.

He helped James Carry him up to the bedroom and place him in his bed. Sherlock, warming up from the heat of the room and blankets, started to awake a little from his daze. Of course, it would be a while before he would completely recover, it was a good sign.

"J-John" he called over at the man sitting next to his bed.

"I'm here Sherlock" he replied. Their voices were hushed as Mycroft talked to James and Mrs. Hudson out in the living room; giving directions in case of any other bad situations arise.

"I don't understand."

"you need to rest." John said sternly.

"he's found me"

"who has?"

"you need to leave" Sherlock said in a cracked voice. He let out a deep breath and sank into the bed more.

"im not leaving you, not here, not now." Sherlock grinned.

"could be dangerous"

"im a soldier, don't you dare insult me." Sherlock listened to him talk about himself. He found himself enjoying hearing john speak to Sherlock like he had so much authority over him.

"tomorrow, this will all be a memory."

"maybe for…" his voice trailed off as he started to fall asleep. The rest of the words were mumbled and John couldn't make them out. At that moment, Mycroft walked into the room and looked at John who was supposed to be in his own bed, sitting in a chair and then at his brother who was now asleep under the covers.

"Look at you two…how cute."

"wha-"

" I advise you to keep a look out of the place for the next week or so. That means at night, curtains closed and doors lock whenever you are home and whenever you are away."

"whats wrong Mycroft?"

"Just safety measures…take them seriously"

"Yessir" John looked over at Sherlock and then sighed a little.

"You don't believe he's capable of injuring himself like this, do you."

"I don't want to."

"Try not to mix fairy tales with reality…it will only break your heart."

"You don't believe somebody would do this to him?"

"That's for me to think and for you to just do as I say."

"You're not making any sense." John felt his vision bluring a little. He figured it was stress and rubbed at his eyes a little.

"There are many things man's going to say about the moon my good sister. Watch her cow for me while I drink" john looked at Mycroft, cocking his head sideways.

"What the hell are you saying!?" he tried to shout, but it seemed to come out slurred.

"Like lemonade will sing for Courtney during midnight run away with her…" the more he tried to think, the stranger everything sounded and he couldn't remember whether he stood up or the floor hit him in the face. Mycroft stood over John, chuckling a little. They would both be better off asleep for the rest of the night.

"James, fix Doctor Watson" he said walking out of the room. James walked into the room, seeing john on the floor and Sherlock in bed. He heard the front door open and close and realized he had to get it done fast; so he placed John in bed next to Sherlock and closed the door. Both of them had been given a sedative and would be asleep for at least twelve to fourteen hours. Enough time for Mycroft to figure out what was going on.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: YARA I HOPE YOUR HAPPY! and sorry its a shorter chapter. i kind have an idea for a twist coming up. but i had to get this scene out of the way first. **

Hours were going by slowly for Mycroft and his unnamed crew. they opened file after file and made calls to mysterious men trying to figure out the person of interest. The person who sent the strange warnings. The warnings occupied every space of his mind, save for one where his brother always filled. Some would say he was obsessive in his work, he would prefer to use the word thorough. But no matter what, his work was important and so was his brother.

It was true, maybe Sherlock didn't care about people and sometimes Mycroft didn't care about his brother…but one couldn't live without the other as fish cannot live without water. Their rivalry goes beyond what the eye can see. They grew up together, and the older corrupted the younger. A great pain to bear…and it was his alone.

Morning came sooner for the two men in the flat of 221B as they lay twisted in blankets. Neither of them knew the other was there and neither had awoken since they were placed onto the bed. The curtains of the room were drawn closed and the door was also shut. Sherlock, normally the early bird had started to awaken late in the morning. The sun was weak as it peered through the curtains only illuminating a small spot upon the bed where Johns legs were.

Still in his morning daze Sherlock laid on his back and looked up at the ceiling. He had yet to notices he shuffling of the sheets next to him as John started to wake. They had both been given the same sedative around the same time.

_Born as one…_

Sherlock rolled over facing his back towards John…his mind flashed back to the dark alley. He could almost feel the cold across his body and he pulled up the blankets tighter over him. closing his eyes, Sherlock could see the visions easier. There was a man. Tall and gallant, walkin towards Sherlock who had paused in the alley to get away momentarily from the prison that used to be his home.

_He exists as three…_

The cold air kept hitting him over and over. Looking up from the ground he could see a man wearing a mask. His clothes were nice, perfect and clean. Sherlock normally would have been on guard, but recently he couldn't do it. The man spoke. The words were whispered and strong, dark and poisonous.

_The number doubled, and tripled is he…_

He shuddered and tried to call out to the man. His voice hitched in his throat and the last thing he could see were feet walking away. All his limbs became numb and there was something, something cold in his hands. Trying to focus he hit the ground and now here he was. Lying in bed in his flat.

_Beware…_

_That wasn't the end._

_It wasn't a dream._

_Fairy tales don't exist, Sherlock. _

The clock struck the hour, nothing happened.

_…do you hear me?_

_…_

_Sherlock?_

Silence engulfed the room. The room, no details could be seen. Nothing stood out. Sherlock wasn't even self-aware. Maybe he was dead? Could it be hell? No, he didn't believe in god or anything past life, which to him could be just an illusion.

_Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth._

He shifted.

_Awake? Alive? _

In the room that had no walls, no doors or a window was a shadow that loomed off in the distance (?). Sherlock was in the room, not aware of what position he was in. the shadow had eyes…many eyes and a rumbling growl.

_My friends have come to greet you…Sherlock._

"Sherlock…" somebody called. "Dammit, what dose did you give him?"

"Same as John, and he's fine"

"Define Fine?" John called from the living room.

"Ignore that James, what the hell went wrong"

"He's not dead sir…"

"I know that you fool. Keep an eye on him" Mycroft walked into the living room and sat down across from John. "your friend seems to be unable to wake up right now. We've been working all night to figure out the poison."

"any luck?"

"some. Anyways, how are you feeling? The tea working for you?" he asked nicely.

"y-you changed subjects. What about the poison?"

"feisty…we don't know much, but until we do, we're not letting anything get out."

"you don't trust me?"

"Trust isn't the issue Watson. I trust you with my brother's life"

"But not the truth?"

"Truth? In a case like this, there is no truth. Just the result of whatever happens."

"How bad is it?" John asked worried. He sighed a little and tried to relax.

"Bad isn't the word Watson, just keep an eye out for him. I'm sure he will be a little short tempered when he awakes…the usual"

"Usual?" Mycroft stood up and ushered James out of the room and waved to john. Only when john heard the door close did he stand up and stomp into the kitchen to dispose of his now empty cup. Mrs. Hudson had gone out for a while and wouldn't be back til evening. Walking by Sherlock's room, John touched the door and worked his way up to his own room.


End file.
